#I BINK!!

[damismagictrick]

Pensare che domani vedrò i bnkr44 e la mia unica duty sarà inquadrare Caph e Faster gridando “LA MIA LESBICA TOMBOY PREFERITA!! E LA LESBICA GOTICA!!”

[ghost-proofbaby]

foolishness and all

summary: your boyfriend puts your love to the test when his heart is set on a certain unsightly purchase.

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: jar jar binks. not edited, i was laughing too hard.

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: this is the product of a very insane conversation that occurred in the middle of the night last night with @emmaisgonnacry, @lokis-army-77, and @emma-munson. forever sad we can't get the jar jar watch </3 (but at least emma got the darth maul one!) ((thank you for making me laugh until i cried last night, friends.))

“If you buy that thing, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

“I’m getting the watch.” 

“And I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

You glare at your boyfriend for several beats of tense silence, narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do anything to change his mind. His heart is already set – there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. 

“Edward Munson,” you stress, hand shooting out to hold his wrist, but he’s already whipping it out of your reach, “That thing is hideous. We’re shopping for a nice watch for Steve’s wedding, not that.” 

“This thing has a name, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles toothily, tilting his head tauntingly at you, “And I think it fits the theme perfectly.” 

“In what fucking world?”

You're whispering harshly now, trying to keep from causing a commotion in the middle of the store and garnering any more unwanted attention. The workers had given you strange enough looks when Eddie had first laid eyes on his prize, his little yelp of excitement seemingly startling them. 

The less people who witnessed the atrocity on Eddie’s wrist currently, the better. 

Eddie goes against that wish entirely, holding his wrist high in the air for the entire mall to see at this point, “In my world. He did say it was meant to be open for interpretation-”

“Not like this.”

“And my interpretation is buying this absolutely priceless Jar-Jar Binks watch.” 

The thing looks down at you, almost as if it’s laughing at you just as Eddie was right now. 

Part of you wonders if it’s all a bit – something Eddie noticed set you off, and he’s now making it into an entire catastrophic situation solely for his own enjoyment at your irritation. But part of you also knows that even if it is a bit, Eddie Munson will commit wholeheartedly to it. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. He’ll be leaving this store as the owner of that watch, and the thought mortifies you. 

“Please,” you finally resort to begging, feeling a bit childish as you give a pitiful hop to reach his wrist. It’s useless. He only stretches higher, shirt riding up to expose that strip of pale skin beneath the fabric. Your eyes catch on it momentarily, but you force yourself to not get distracted, “Eddie, baby-”

“Nuh uh,” he’s quick to shake his head, taking a full step back from you, “Nope. That baby shit isn’t working on me this time. I’m buying it. End of discussion.” 

Fine. The sweet talk route didn’t work. That’s fine. 

You had more than one weapon in the arsenal. 

Before he can even think to step any further away, you reach out and hook your finger through one of his belt loops, giving a tug that further exposes the band of his boxers all while forcing him closer to you. 

You’re back on your tip-toes, no longer reaching for the watch, but to let your lips barely graze over his as your whispers, “What if I ask you not to very, very nicely?” 

That has him faltering. Complete hesitation as he takes a deep breath and visible gulp, arm beginning to drop ever so slightly. 

“I would… I’d…” he trails off, clearly losing focus as your lips stay hovering just out of touch, “I’d probably… I-”

“Probably not buy it – right, handsome?” 

And just as quickly as he’d fallen victim to the game you’d started playing, he’s pulled from it. 

He leans back as far as he can with your finger still clinging to his pants, scrunching up his nose, “I see what you’re doing. Not fucking fair. It’s only thirteen dollars, anyway. I bet if Steve was here right now, he’d tell me to get it.” 

“He wouldn’t!” you whisper-yell, giving up and pulling back as well, “It’s his wedding, Eddie. He told us to get something nice to fit in with the black tie dress code,” you can see him ready the argument of interpretation once more, and nip it in the bud, “No amount of interpretation can ever qualify the head of Jar-Jar Binks turned into a watch as something that fits into black tie attire.”

He’s not convinced. Not of the point you’re trying to make – no, you know he agrees with you and is just being a little shit at this point – but of not buying the watch. 

“What if I just bought it?” he barters, “Maybe I don’t wear it to the weddin-”

“There’s no maybes about it. You can’t wear it to the wedding. You’re one of the groomsmen.”

He lifts his other hand just as the one adorning the eyesore finally drops to be eye level once more, “Fine! Fine. I won’t wear it to the wedding, but I’m still getting it.” 

It’s a compromise. Or as close to a compromise as you and Eddie were going to get to right now. 

With his wrist finally lowered, you can finally get a proper look at the thing. It’s Jar-Jar’s head with a band to mimic his skin, no clock in sight until it’s flipped open. The inside might be even worse though. Vivid font curling to spell out Jar-Jar, a light orange background with darker swirls, and the world’s smallest sliver of a screen to display the digital time. 

It absolutely blows your mind that anyone thought it was a good marketing idea. But then again, people like your boyfriend exist. He was the intended audience, not you. 

“It’s not even that cool,” you weakly still try to fight the losing battle, gingerly grabbing for the wrist this time with your free hand. Your finger hasn’t left Eddie’s belt loop, now resting comfortably in it, just growing fond of the closeness rather than weaponizing it against him. 

And maybe as a way of keeping him from running up to the counter to complete the purchase. Maybe. 

“It’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he proudly proclaims, right there in the middle of the Radio Shack, never having looked more satisfied with himself, “It can just be a conversational piece. I promise, I won’t break out the secretly evil little shit-”

“What?”

“Unless the occasion actually calls for it.” 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to where you just called Jar-Jar secretly evil?” you ask, more perplexed than concerned at this point.

He was getting it. You were hating it. You had bigger wars to win with the man before you at a later date, surely. 

His grin makes you regret asking, “Oh, you haven’t heard the theory about Jar-Jar being a Sith lord, have you?” 

Your finger slips from his jeans, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. 

“Go buy that thing. I’m waiting in the car.” 

“Wait, babe, no!” 

“Nope. I’m not listening to this.” 

You turn from Eddie to walk away, making sure he can’t see the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you’re so desperately fighting, but it’s no use when he grabs onto your elbow to spin you back around. 

“Eddie, I’m not-”

You’re interrupted with his lips on yours, an unexpectedly genuine kiss ensuing. The kind that reminds you why you’d ever deal with someone who wants a Jar-Jar Binks watch, the kind that reminds you why the occasional embarrassment Eddie purposefully puts you through in public is all worth it. 

All the butterflies, all the sweetness, all the tenderness. The way his thumb traces over your skin as his hand stays wrapped around your elbow, the way his other hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You can still taste whatever sour candy he’d bought moments before walking into the store all over his tongue and lips, hiding his last cigarette from hours ago. 

It’s a good enough kiss to forget the entire interaction that had just occurred. 

When he pulls away, you’re a little breathless, all fluttering eyes glazed over as you look up at him, “What was that for?” 

His smile could melt your entire existence. Turn you right into a puddle of all the love you struggle to contain, just for him. 

“Just because,” he shrugs, but then he continues on, “And for putting up with me. Thank you for that.” 

“I don’t put up with you,” you say immediately, and mean it.

Even when he’s being insufferable. Even when he’s still wearing the goddamn Jar-Jar Binks watch. You don’t put up with him – you love him. Foolishness and all. 

Your finger returns to his belt loop, and this time, you tug him in for another kiss. Something short and sweet, something just because. 

“You know,” he mumbles against your lips, arm wrapping around you so you can’t leave him just yet, “They have a Darth Maul one, too…” 

Your hand comes up between the two of you, only a slight struggle, just for you to smack him in the center of his chest, “You can only have one, Munson.”

“We could match!”

“I am not wearing that thing.” 

He throws his head back and cackles, a certain glee only born of being with the one you feel safest with flooding his features. All those wrinkles in the corners of his crinkled eyes, the stretch of his lips that bring on the appearance of dimples you could bury yourself in if given the chance. A boy made up of stardust and felicity. Your boy made up of every good thing that could have ever existed in this lifetime. 

You’d rather bicker over the useless things with him a hundred times over than ever live a life without him. 

“It’s fine,” he finally sighs dramatically, “I’ll just wear the Jar-Jar Binks watch to our wedding one day.”

Our wedding one day. 

Your heart just about explodes, and the only thing you can do to not choke up is smack him even harder. 

Our wedding. 

It has a nice ring to it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you tell him instead.

There’ll be plenty of other moments to talk about that. Now, when he still wears the ugliest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, is not the time. 

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases as he slowly backs away, a twinkle in his eyes that makes you question if he knows how you’d secretly felt about that joke. That makes you question if he and Steve Harrington had really only been shopping for Steve’s rings for the last year. 

He doesn’t even run to the counter, knowing that you won’t be chasing him. You’re content to stay back and wait. You’ll always wait on him, really.

Even if it meant waiting for the day he wore that goddamn watch on your wedding day, because at the end of it all, you’d probably let him. You’d even wear the Darth Maul watch to match if he insisted. 

You’d let him wear whatever he wants, and you’d wear whatever he insists upon, because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter – it’d be enough to simply marry the dork that just tripped on his way up on the counter while giggling over a watch on his wrist, and know that he’s yours, forever.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

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@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

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@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo @findmeincorneliastreet

join my taglist!

[izzystizzys]

As High Marshall Commander, a title foisted on him by the Galaxy’s fakest bitch aka Chancellor Palpatine, Fox theoretically has privileges and authorities like no other clone. In practice, he has a headache and gets ignored more obviously than before.

What he also has is a fancy new function on his personal comm unit modified to broadcast GAR-wide to all commanding officers, up to and including Jedi. It gathers dust next to his own modified button that sees much better use - a private channel to Stone, the only vod that will let Fox bitch at him to his heart’s content without hanging up (Thire) or bitching right back (Thorn).

It’s been a long shift of 72 hours, the maximum Stabby allows him to do without a well-placed hypo to the neck, when Fox finally collapses on his rickety cot in the Command quarters and hits the private comm connection to Stone without looking. He’s already rolling his eyes so hard it tweaks at the migraine that’s been building since hour 18 and heaving a put-upon sigh.

“Everyone is stupid, Stone, and asking to be thrown face-first from the Dome balustrades”, he begins, settling into a low, dead tone of voice to warm to the building monologue. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. “I swear to haran I’m going to wring Amedda’s stringy neck one of these days. I don’t know what magical Force gods his mother pissed off, but they made sure to punish her and the Galaxy at large a hundred times over. He sucks the joy and competence out of every room like a black hole of stupid. I’d call him a has-been, but I trust in the power of nepotism and also just don’t believe he ever was. I swear he’s doing it on purpose and - oh, kriffing Sith-damned hells, you know who’s definitely doing it on purpose?! The kriffing Chancellor, that wrinkly ass-faced ballsack!”

Taking a deep breath, Fox lets that sit in his chest for a moment, indulging in the feeling of bright weightlessness. “I swear he’s trying to keep the war going - no one man can be that incompetent and still draw breath, not even Amedda or Taa. Goddamn Taa - but anyways, kriffing hell, Stone, either the senility isn’t an act or he’s a bad cartoon villain from Dooby Scoo. Yes Sir, sending Senator Amidala to a Seppie-infested planet for negotiations is a great idea after her fourth bomb threat of the week. No Sir, I can’t hear you cackling evilly with Count Dooku under your lame two-credit robe as you’re definitely not colluding with the Republic’s enemies. What, you have a red lightsaber?! Oh, of course I don’t know what that means, I was dropped on the head as a tubie!”

Barely pulling in a harsh breath, Fox continues, palms pressing into his eyeballs hard enough to cause sparks. “And speaking of lightsabers and senile fucks, haran smite my ass off but who the kriff thought it’d be a good idea to give absolute tactical and military authority to the kriffing eldritch space monks! The Force didn’t bless them with the collective good sense it gave to a kriffing rock, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise! Has anyone kriffing read the Theed Convention of Sentient Rights in Wartimes?! NO?!! Well, color me UNSURPRISED, because war crimes ARE NOT! GOOD! BATTLE! TACTICS!!”

“They run around in crop tops, Stone, in crop tops! Oh, the Force provides - WELL I’M GOING TO PROVIDE MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS, AND IT’S GOING TO HURT BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WEARING KRIFFING ARMOUR!”

“Sure, let’s send the preteens into active warzones under heavy artillery in kriffing party wear! Surely nothing will ever go wrong! And give them commanding positions equivalent to CC-clones, WHO WERE LITERALLY GENETICALLY CREATED FOR IT! WITH A DECADE OF INTENSE TRAINING! LET’S DO THAT, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL KRIFFING STUPID!”

He’s gesturing wildly at the ceiling now, face heating up as his blood boils beneath the surface. “And you know what really gets my lowers in a twist, apart from the preteen commanding officers and blatant kriffing high treason and war profiteering?! Is it the complete lack of recognition? Gratitude? Basic sentient rights?! No, Stone, no, I would take all that in stride if it meant I never had to see Skywalker and Amidala kriffing canoodle right in front of me again, and pretend like it isn’t the galaxy’s worst conflict of interest case in the making!”

“By all levels of Sith-hell, what the kriff is wrong with that woman? You have it all, you could have anyone, and you choose that twatwaffle?! And then they have the gall to lock themselves in a broom closet for twenty minutes straight and have me guard it! ‘Oh yes, Senator, naturally we all go rattling brooms with our good friends! Nothing dodgy happening at all! I definitely believe you were looking for detergent and have used a washing machine before!’ The absolute nerve on those two! And then last week - you’ll never believe this - High General Windu passed by, and I swear he looked like he wanted to throw himself off the roof! I’ve never been less impressed by anyone in my life, and I’m batch-mates with Bly!”

“Speaking of Bly, that little bitchtit - if I have to edit one more, one more kriffing propaganda piece of him staring at General Secura’s bits, I’m going to stab my eye out! And if I have to edit one more of Secura staring at his bits, I’m going to stab the other one out! The only good thing I have to say about them is they’re more subtle than Skywalker and Amidala, which means nothing really. I will never understand that woman - but then she’s worked with Jar Jar Binks for a decade and not had a nervous breakdown, so she either has nerves of steel or is on some good-ass drugs.”

“Girl, your choices. And you know what else is a choice? Kote kriffing roundhouse-kicking heads off droids when he has a perfectly good blaster right there! I don’t know what the Longnecks put in his tube, but I hope to kriff it’s not contagious. I’d say I’m glad he has Kenobi to keep him in check, but that man wouldn’t know common sense if it punched his nose clean off his face. Flirting with General Grievous, ugh. I’d say he can do better, but honestly, they deserve each other.”

“And Wolffe - “, panting, Fox pauses, considering. “Well, Wolffe is an asshole and stupid, and I hate him because he’s stupid and has a stupid face. Also he keeps drunkenly submitting adoption paperwork on General Koon’s behalf - I wish I could say something mean about that, but honestly, his existence is roast enough. Anyways, bitches are trying me today, and by bitches I mean everyone. Commander Fox signing off to go not commit treason, unfortunately.”

Thoroughly powered out, Fox sinks into his hard mattress with a deep sigh. Several seconds of silence reign, and then his comm unit starts blaring in alarm.

Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, Mace Windu is knocked flat on his ass by a gargantuan shatterpoint exploding.

[otterwithatophat]

There are two types of borzoi:

A divine being sent from the fabric of creation to guide you on a grand quest through a cursed woodland long abandoned

blorp

[galactic-rhea]

Draw an au where jar jar is the sith lord and anakin doesn't turn to the dark side cos he hates him more than sand

Actually, I will put my hands on the fire and say that, given that Jar Jar, besides Padmé and Obi-Wan is the only person that knew Anakin as a little kid in Tatooine, and then, he was also the only one besides Padmé to call him "Ani", and that he refers to him as a friend, and that Anakin in AOTC actually starts rambling about his insecurities about Padmé inmediatly and during a mission in Naboo, he never showed that much annoyance towards Jar Jar, I really, really doubt Anakin hates Jar Jar, I think he considers him a bit of a friend lol

[ventresses]

Star Wars: The Phantom Menace (2/?)

Star Wars + Text Posts & Headlines

[blueskittlesart]

playing zelda with my family watching sucks because they have lots of questions but their questions are like “why do the zora have fish boobs” and “what’s up with the voice acting in this game” and “don’t you think that you should try something else instead of attempting to brute force your way up this cliff you’ve already run out of stamina on four times” instead of the fun lore questions i WANT to be answering

[incorrectstarwarsquotess]

Can you do Anakin and Ashoka?

Of course!

Anakin: How stupid do you think I am?

Ahsoka: About the same level as Jar Jar.

Anakin, on the verge of tears: You fucking take that back.

[beskad]

generative AI "art" gets an instant block sorry not sorry 💀

[i-dreamofsleep]

RIRI CHAN LASER BEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM

[thisisthe-way]

WAIT A GOSH DARN LONG TIME AGO GALAXY FAR AWAY FREAKING MINUTE—

You’re telling me Jon and Dave REDEEMED JAR JAR BINKS by making his actor the JEDI WHO SAVED FAN FAVORITE CUDDLE FORCE USER GROGU?!

What an honor. Welcome back to Star Wars canon, sir and may I say for the record SOME OF US ALWAYS LOVED JAR JAR.

[meirimerens]

die Küsse

[izzystizzys]

There are outsiders inside the Guard headquarters - capital O Outsiders, in Thorn’s mind, whose palms are growing sweaty inside his gloves. There’s a crackle of static across his HUD which temporarily blurs the bright orange markings across Commander Cody’s armour in front of his eyes, and he wonders a little faintly if making a break for it would be worth it.

Maybe if he kicked the Commander in the shin. Emotionally, if not realistically.

General Kenobi hums deeply into his mysterious Jedi beard, and Thorn abandons that line of thinking. It would just mean leaving Thire in charge anyways, a thought he shudders at. Fox has been gone for only eight hours and twelve minutes, and already Thorn wants to spend the rest of his life in the scream closet. He has considerably more empathy for the Marshall Commanders refusal to keep to anything approximating an existent sleep schedule all of a sudden.

“This is a very strange turn of events”, the General remarks, for the seventh time that hour. He’s been hm-ing and ah-ing his entire trip through HQ, making that line of tension threatening to snap Thorn’s spine draw up tighter each time. He’s going to give Stabby a nervous breakdown, at this rate. “As I understand it, Marshall Commander Fox was considered rather severe to the point of disproportionality in his consciousness of duty.” General Kenobi’s face does something very strange. “Even considering the evidence and facts, I cannot picture him assassinating the Chancellor and kidnapping a Senator.”

Thorn can, actually, a thought he doesn’t voice. Assassinating the Chancellor, that is. A good number of the Guard can picture themselves doing exactly that, and Stabby needs to be physically restrained from doing it on a regular basis. He also cannot picture Fox kidnapping a Senator, though, especially that one.

Which is why this stinks to high heaven.

“General”, Cody breaks the awkward silence Kenobi was evidently waiting for Thorn to fill, “Fox didn’t kill the Chancellor - he couldn’t have. He would never -“ The 212th’s wonder boy pauses briefly, searching for something to say that conveys more gravitas than trust me, I just know. Evidently, he doesn’t find it, because he finishes lamely on, “- he just wouldn’t.”

Shows you how much you know, ori’vod, Thorn thinks acidly, with all the pent-up rage of two years’ time watching Fox silently break apart at the seams.

“We will get to the bottom of this, Cody”, Kenobi says soothingly, with the hope for someone who hasn’t been chewed up and spit back out but Coruscant. “I promise, the Jedi are doing-“

A loud banging noise drowns out the rest of Kenobi’s sentence, and then promptly cuts off the rest when part of the ceiling suddenly caves in with extreme prejudice - no, Thorn realizes, that’s the air vent being launched at the ground followed by a dark, blurry shape of long dreads and sandy Jedi robe. Heartbeat thundering in his throat, Thorn barely stops himself in time from unloading his blasters into the stranger and is only slightly comforted by Cody’s equally drawn blaster. Only Kenobi is unimpressed by the turn of events, Jedi space-spidey-senses and all.

“- everything we can”, he finishes dryly, flicking a speck of dust off his fellow Jedi. “Commander Thorn, meet Quinlan Vos. Quinlan-“

“Yes, yes, good morning or afternoon, whatever”, the Jedi - Vos - intercepts. Thorn doesn’t point out that it’s advanced evening dipping into the night-cycle, because it might make him lose his shit for good. “We have a problem, Obes. There’s some creepy shit going on here - Force, all of you need therapy.” That last bit is aimed at Thorn, he’s pretty sure. The furrowed brow definitely is. “And some heavy-duty medical assistance, I’m pretty sure. What the kriff is up with that?”

Kenobi’s eyebrows are steadily inching towards his hairline, and beneath the bucket and general assholery Thorn is sure Cody’s are doing the same. He’s rescued by a sudden chime from the Commander’s com signalling a priority level one message, and Wolffe’s grey armour that pops up.

“Kote, thank kriff I caught you - there’s some seriously weird stuff in the Chancellor’s office, the General said to get Kenobi over here as fast as possible. No sign of Fox, but-“

Which is when Vos decides to pipe up by throwing a comlink at Kenobi that makes Thorn’s chest grow cold with panic, because it should be locked behind several bomb- and thief-proof doors deep in the lower levels. “Right, I might be able to help with that!”

Which is when, to Thorn’s growing horror, the comlink lights up and all he can do is watch numbly as Fox’s voice crackles through.

“-kriffing Sithspit is going on, Thorn, you can’t just send out distress signals and then not answer, was your growth tube kriffing dropped or -“

A loud, familiar wailing sound interrupts Fox in his rant, just as it was starting to get good. Thorn wants to bang his head into the wall. Thorn wants many things.

“MEESA NO MEAN TO IMPALE THE CHANCELLOR ONSA PEN, MEESA SORRY!”

[padawansuggest]

Ahsoka: *considering taking Grogu as a student*

Din: *hopeful*

Grogu: Patu! ‘If you take me from my father I WILL turn to the dark side that’s a kriffing promise :)’

Ahsoka: :) ahh *gently sets him back on the ground and takes a few steps back* nah, I ain’t goin through that again. You can keep him.

Din: …wat?

Ahsoka: ya that lil bastard used to bite me when we were children, I ain’t dealing with him no more. Go find Tag and Bink, they’re dumb enough to give it a go. Have fun!

Din: …wat???

Grogu: Patu! ‘Bye bye!’

[galactic-rhea]

lets say the zigerrian queen didnt die like in the show, what would be padme's reaction?

What she does best, political warfare. If the Republic doesn't do anything well,,,she will put on a jumpsuit and go and try to fix things her way.

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

One Amazing Summer Day 210803